Toast a couple slices of sourdough and mix together a couple tsps of whatever mustard you have around with a couple tbsps of greek yogurt (I was out of mayo. This actually worked pretty well. Shocking stuff) and some black pepper.

Assemble and destroy.

You look like you could use a good sandwich.

Treat yo self.

A little quick real life talk? My days have been chaotic, I’ve been sick or fighting something off for weeks and am just now feeling like myself again. I’m gonna work on building up this weak immune system of mine while working my tail off in this baking program and looking for paying work. I don’t know how much time I’ll have for this blogging business. I’m gonna try to post more, but I can’t promise anything regular. I’m gonna shoot for a post every other week, for now.

And now, a request: TELL ME YOUR SIREN SONG.

Too intense?

Well, guys, I really wanna know.

Throw a girl a bone, will ya?

*Or elbow. Probably elbow. But who can keep track of their own medical history? Squares is who!

**I love you mom. I’m obviously only alive ’cause you made the tough decisions. But I’ll probably never get over this.

Also, Everyone, tell me a story. It’ll be awesome. For me.

***My siren songs would be dicks. Obvi.

****As someone who’s done some little bits of theater and has many friends who are actively pursuing a life in that industry, this is the one that feels the worst to me. But the urge is never not there. I figure when I’m older, I’ll snap and be the worst audience member ever. Like a living version of Thespis, but less creative.

On Friday, I went out and stayed out. I was gonna celebrate because I got into a baking program for the summer* and since celebrating indoors seemed lame, I ended up with grass marks so deep and stubborn I’m surprised they’re not still pressed into my legs.

I shoved joy into my day by riding my bike all over town,

eating good food,

listening to a podcast I can’t stop loving, reading and nearly falling asleep at a park… but only because the sun and that sneaky breeze were so on it.

Then a mother freaking turkey flew out of a tree and charged at me.

I’m still recovering.

Did you guys know that turkeys are

a) Unsettling. Like, a lot.

b) Able to fly. Who sanctioned that? Why?!**

And did you guys know that I

a) Feel very close to Tippi Hedren… despite having hair that actually moves… and that, I, as a result of that closeness, have sympathetic bird based PTSD.

b) Will now go to delis and order turkey sandwiches and eat them spitefully… and hope that turkeys don’t have that wasp thing going on.

So given the whole turkey situation and the fact that I was, in fact, forcing the joy aspect of my day, led me to pull a mulligan. I groundhog-ed that bidness.

My do-over involved even more biking (I hurt, let’s not talk about it),

But I cooked delicious food for Cinco de Mayo so my regret has been buried in beans.

And pico de gallo.

Make some!

Start by chopping 1/2 medium red onion

add onion to a bowl with about 2 tbsps lime juice and a pinch of salt, to start to mellow out it’s aggressive onionyness.

Mince 1 pepper (I like serranos for their sharper, cleaner heat but I used jalepenos for years and was totally into them, so use whatever’s easier for you to find/eat) (also, if you want your salsa to be on the milder side you should know that I might make fun of you but we can totally still be friends… and that you should get rid of the seeds and paler stuff inside the pepper before you mince it, as that’s where most of the heat comes from)

chop a handful of cilantro

and chop a couple of roma tomatoes too

Combine it all and eat immediately or let it sit around for a bit, covered and let the flavor get awesome-er… just don’t wait too long or the tomatoes will turn into sad sacks, texture-wise… or, more likely, someone else will see it and eat all of it while you’re off running errands, like a dope.

But seriously, at the two day mark those tomatoes feel like depression took corporeal form in your mouth. Don’t go there.

(Yes, ‘corporeal’ just happened and yes, I watched Buffy during a time when my brain still absorbed new information. What of it.)

Not the best sell, I know, but just eat it when it’s fresh and it’ll be like joy took corporeal form in your mouth and then had a sexy party in your throat.

Is that not better?

Well… make it. And then tell me how I should have pitched it to you.

It’s a rough recipe but it’s incredibly easy to adjust to your own tastes and homemade salsa is kinda the best, so try it.

While you’re at it, you should doctor up some refried beans, throw on a pot of homemade spanish rice (I’ll get to that in another post, don’t you worry), quarter some radishes, fry some bacon and corn and get me a beer. All this typing’s made me thirsty.

And sleepy.

Bye, Internet!

(Yes, I’m waving again.)

(I’m gonna sleep so hard, guys.)

*What was I thinking? I’m gonna be stupid hot and crabby as hell.

**And why did it never occur to me that this winged animal might be able to do that? Jeez, self. Get on it.

***But seriously, thank god. I was hours away from changing this blog’s deal from food and job hunting to food and… well, me complaining about being sick while drinking beer. Know thyself.

****Between the turkey thing and the summer camp job I think the world is telling me to reread this…

Not a hard sell. This book is seriously well written and the author doesn’t try to make herself look good which is a rare, wonderful and brave thing. I stopped reading it for several months when I was three chapters away from the end because I didn’t want it to be over.

I feel like we’re in between six* different seasons right now. I know, the Bay Area is mad fickle but… maybe I forgot. Maybe it got old, maybe I got used to our near rainless winter and expected the seasons to have simply swapped time frames. Whatever the reason behind my confusion, it’s annoying. I don’t know what to wear and more importantly, I can’t tell if I want a salad.

I love salads. But I don’t think it’s hot enough yet. I think I need to feel my teeth sweat before I’ll be ready to sink them into cold wedges of ice berg covered in homemade ranch, or tender purple red leaves sprinkled with blue cheese and surrounded by a harsh vinaigrette. Salads make me want to sit on warm, itchy grass and drink Arnold Palmers. I guess I’m waiting for summer.**

More than usual lately I’ve had to fight the urge to huddle inside, under covers in a comfy t-shirt and watch movies or get caught up on Psych. I’m not ready for whatever grab bag of weather is waiting for me outside.

… It’s half a freezer hash brown with marinara, hot sauce and cheddar cheese on a leaf of romaine. For balance.

I’ve been throwing arugula or spinach with a little rice wine vinegar into just about everything I’ve been eating.

Well, everything I’ve been making.

Which has all been hot food, generally involving a lot of very comforting carbs and hot sauce. I’m getting back to my roots during this time of turmoil.****

But I to go back to eating multiple heads of lettuce a week. I’m not ready. At all. I’ve got to take baby steps. So, the greens go in my curries and hashes, maybe wilt a little in the heat but they’re still so freaking stubbornly… well, green… that it doesn’t diminish them. And it get’s me closer to that glorious vehicle for dressings and croutons.

I’ll get up to salads again. It’s just gonna take time. Meanwhile I’ll be drinking a beer in my bathtub and thinking about burgers.

**Freaking weird. I’m usually into winter. I love rain and hate hot weather. I guess I just don’t like uncertainty. Or change. Yup, that’s it. Summer is consistent.

No, it’s not.

Shut up self, I’ll lie to us if I want to. Jeez.

***It’s good, don’t judge me. Also, not a pee problem for all of us. Also also, when raw it tastes a bit like fresh peas. Which I will talk about more in another post… probably by just being super redundant. Look forward to it, friends!

****Don’t worry, I’m not turning this into a livejournal.

And I will be posting an actual recipe soon. Probably. Unless I get distracted. By freezer hash browns. For which, I think, you couldn’t truly fault me.

It’s a question I didn’t really know the answer to until I saw this messed up bunny.

This holiday is clearly about things that we all thought were safely tucked away (ahem, dead) but sneaky style came back to scare the butts off of us.

It’s about demonic candy.

It’s about ham type substances.

It’s about old dudes in freaky bunny costumes who… want you to look for the eggs they laid? What?!

Ok, so I still don’t get this holiday but there’s pork and weirdly shaped, awesomely fresh Reese’s products*** so I’m down.

When I was a small person, my grandparents would bring giant baskets full of candy and toys every year. I dyed eggs with mom. I didn’t know what ham was or why anyone would eat a meat that was so suspiciously pink but I was full of sugar so ‘dinner’ didn’t matter.

Our traditions of baskets, egg dying and looking at ham all puzzled style have fallen by the wayside. I’m totally supposed to be a grown up or something.

But I realized after Easter ended last year that I missed all of that stuff.

I also realized that it is mad impractical to hand an open basket to someone who isn’t in their home.

And, yes, that is a Kim Possible (Ron Stoppable) valentine’s day card that I found in my closet when I was looking for the fake grass.

I believe it’s a fitting card for any occasion.

And I will fight you about this belief.

‘Cause KP is too legit to quit.

So is Mojo Jojo… I also had Powerpuff Girl cards.

And Spider-Man eggs. Which are sketchy. But so are comics. Ha! I slay me.

Anyways. In the spirit of Easter, I went out with Megan last night, gave her a sack, had some drinks, talked to some ladies (who were a little too drunk to be alive… or talking… or maybe just awake), ate chicken, steak and carnitas tacos… and then four donuts.

-That wacky kind that’s covered in crumbs like it belongs to Entenmann’s (next time Safeway has a sale, somebody’s going down a memory lane made of coffee cake) (that somebody will be me)

-A near perfect maple old fashioned

-An awesome glazed donut

All dunked in horrible coffee and eaten surrounded by the random people who show up at a donut place in the middle of the night.

That’s how you make Easter magic, people.

So, this weekend, go buy cheap, scary candy, drink with a friend, stumble over to a taco truck and eat too many donuts. It’s a recipe for success. Until you wake up. Then you will feel sad and gross. But that’s what the holidays are ultimately about anyways. Which means, I nailed it. Woo!

Oh and when you realize there’s too much candy in your house, come back here. Next post: bacon and random candy chunk cookies.